Waitin' on Sprout: Fourth and inches

38 week summary:

142 pounds

41 inches around

Tired. Grumpy. 

And not in labor.

The end is nearly in sight. It's so close I can feel it. (Literally. It feels kind of like a big old baby hanging out in my pelvis.)

We're ready for you, little man. Whenever you decide to join us, we're ready.

Nope, there's no nursery waiting for you. (The closet was good enough for your brother. That will have to do for now.) Our bags are only halfheartedly packed. And we're still not totally set on a name yet. (Your older siblings are...but Mommy and Daddy are having commitment issues. If push comes to shove, we'll just let them name you.)

But look! Mommy made t-shirts for everyone! Surely that means you can make your big debut now, right?

In other news, it's supposed to be 108 degrees this weekend. I'm developing a new appreciation for those winter babies of mine. Not that I want to make another drive to the hospital in the middle of the night in a sleet storm. But stepping outside into some crisp cool air is sounding awfully good right now.

Ask a silly question...

Mostly, we dabble in crowd control and mayhem management around here. My children are children, and as such, they specialize in all things loud, fast, messy and potentially dangerous. They are boisterous, playful, and they live a full-throttle life. They also refuse to give each other the space that is often required for kids to calm down, and prefer to play together from sun up to sun down, in order to fully maximize their potential for annoying one another. Such is life with three kids ages 4 and under. It doesn't bother me, really. I've just learned to talk over them.

But every once in a while, they surprise me. It usually happens on the tail end of a lecture offered in a frightening whisper instead of a yell. Dropping my volume to nearly nothing when their own decibel level has nearly reached Jet Engine seems to have the effect of making them think that mom has completely lost it, and they better shape up else I stop preparing food for them and leave them to repair their own fallen down block towers.

The three will hold some sort of brief, whispered meeting amongst themselves, usually overseen by the eldest. My middle child, ever the peacemaker, does his best to make sure his younger brother is in attendance while the three choose books from the shelf, then Abby and Caleb work together to show Jacob where they intend to sit quietly while Mommy gathers her wits.

Silence is golden, but is often indicative of trouble around here. So I'll peek my head around the corner and find them calmly reading to themselves. Unsure if these are the same children who were moments earlier doing their best to destroy my furniture and my sanity, I do a quick identity check to validate that these are, in fact, my kids.

They seem to respond well to their names, so I move on to my next question.

"What are you guys doing?" I ask, with some hesitation. Have I destroyed the moment? Should I be messing with such a good thing?

"We're just reading, Mommy," Abby responds.

"Quietly," adds Caleb.

"Meeee-ow!" shrieks Jacob, waving a cat book in the air.

I don't know why they do it, but I'm not asking any more questions.

Feral children

I'm certain he was having a bad day. What other excuse could their be for the grumpy guy on the opposite side of the creek complaining that my noisy children and their boisterous play were disturbing the wildlife?

They're not disturbing the wildlife, I thought.

My kids are the wildlife.

No added preservatives

Our Saturday began, as most do, with an early morning drive to the farmer's market to pick up our week's worth of fruits and veggies from a nearby farm that the kids and I visited on a field trip a while back. After that, Daddy had big plans that included taking the big kids fishing. Jacob and I and my big belly were along for the ride, with the promise of an awesome park to play on while the others tried to reel in dinner. The park was as awesome as described, and Jacob wore himself out climbing up and down equipment and slides that were totally inappropriate for his age. I enjoyed only having to supervise one crazy child, and even managed to squeeze in a few trips down the two-story slide with him before he tired of my company and insisted on flying solo.

Abby, Caleb and Justin trekked out to the middle of the river and spent a while casting and catching nothing before a kind fisherman nearby offered to pass along the trout he was reeling in that he had no intention of keeping. Justin learned the hard way that our eldest son is a sensitive little fellow when it comes to wildlife, and while Caleb loves to pet the fish while they're swimming in the bucket and eat the fish when they come out of the oven, he does not enjoy that interim step where their heads are bashed against a rock before they get put on ice for the drive home. 

Abby, on the other hand, is fascinated with blood and bones and how bodies are put together--including the bodies of fish. She was a willing assistant in the gutting and preparation of our portion of protein for the evening. 

When it all came together at suppertime, we sat back and enjoyed an entire meal of foods that traveled less than 40 minutes to get to our plates. This, we've decided, is probably about as local and organic as we'll ever be. We bragged about it to the only audience we had, but the four-and-under age group was not nearly as impressed as they should have been. 

Until we offered them pre-packaged store-bought lemon cookies for dessert. I guess you have to draw the line somewhere.

Goodbyes are never easy

...but this one was especially hard.

Perhaps it's that Abby understands a little better now what "moving away" really means.

Or perhaps it's that three-fourths of the girls that came to her Frog and Mashed Potato Party belonged to this one family.

Or perhaps it's that when we tell her they'll be back in four years, that seems like a lifetime to her. Because I guess it is.

In the year we've had to get to know them, we've come to love and admire this family of nine. (Yes, you read that right.) Abby still asks regularly if we can take in one of the six sisters, "since they have extras." She's kindly offered to trade one of her brothers, since they only have one. I've tried explaining that just because they have a large family doesn't mean any of the girls are "extras." But she's not convinced.

Abby and Caleb still pray nightly for healing for the burn Mazzy suffered months ago. Abby paused recently during one of her bedtime prayers to ask if God had healed her friend yet. I told her that yes, Mazzy's burn was healing very well, and their prayers were being answered. They've since switched to thanking God for his gift of healing. We're going on almost a half a year of this particular prayer, and I have a feeling it won't be dropped from the list anytime soon.

We had a fantastic evening treating them to some Georgia barbecue and local produce before they head back to their mission field in Slovakia. There was a fair amount of tears when their big van pulled out of our driveway, but we assured Abby that she will get to see her friends again, and even went so far as to offer her a tentative yes when she asked if we can go visit them.

I see some Skype dates with Slovakia in our future.

Freckles

Considering their limited understanding of planets and our place in the solar system, I'm fairly certain the transit of Venus meant very little to them. What did matter to them was that we spent our evening in our neighbors' front yard, staring into the sun with the special glasses Uncle Matt sent us. The fact that they won't experience this astronomical event again in their lifetime didn't seem to faze them. Instead, they asked exactly the types of questions you would expect from a 3 and 4 year old being told to look at a dot moving slowly across the sun.

"Why does the sun have a freckle?"

"Can I wear my glasses inside?"

"Can we go play now?"

This moment of educational excellence brought to you by the School of Mommy, and Uncle Matt. 

On this day...

Eight years ago, I walked down the aisle. 

Seven years ago, we celebrated by taking a Mexican cruise.

Six years ago, we were on a mission trip in Peru.

Five years ago, we were in Destin, very pregnant with our daughter.

Four years ago, we were in Virginia, and finding out we were pregnant again.

Three years ago, we talked some friends into babysitting so we could have a night out away from the kids.

Two years ago, we were about to find out we were expecting another little boy.

A year ago, we let the grandparents put the kids to bed so we could go out for a nice quiet dinner.

This year, we took three kids to The Varsity and celebrated with a round of chili cheese dogs and a frosted orange, and my very pregnant belly barely fit in our booth.

My how times have changed.